


In Secret, Between the Shadow and the Soul (Nobody moves, Nobody gets hurt)

by Leandra



Series: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur POV, Arthur is horny and stupid, Flashbacks, Heartbreak, M/M, Masturbation, Merlin is a sexy little shit, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Step-siblings, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29924007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: In the intimacy of a bright summer afternoon, with no one around to tell him to stop, with Merlin unaware of his transgression, Arthur allows himself to look...*-*Set during Part 2 of Nobody moves, Nobody gets hurt, from Arthur's perspective, a porny little one-shot with tons of feelings.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120874
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	In Secret, Between the Shadow and the Soul (Nobody moves, Nobody gets hurt)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Serena for offering to beta this in a heartbeat and coining the phrase of Arthur being horny and stupid about Merlin. :-)

Arthur finishes carefully colouring the sheet, before dipping the brush into the mug of water to wash out the watercolour with a few, practiced twists of his hand, careful of the delicate bristles. He takes one more look at the finished work before him, satisfied with the application of colour, then places the brush on a rag to dry. It’s only now when he pauses in his work that he realises the ache in his stiff neck and he cranes it gently to the side, hearing vertebrae crack satisfyingly. He has been working on this piece for the last several hours and, as always, he was swept away by his work, so completely immersed that he only vaguely noted that Merlin had come home from the hospital at some point and made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs on the terrace.

He nearly forgets Merlin is there, and when he glances over at the armchair now, he’s surprised to find Merlin still sprawled into it, sunken down with his legs splayed wide, a pair of headphones pushed over his unruly hair. With amusement, Arthur notes that Merlin has fallen asleep, his slack mouth and the way his head is lolled back against a pillow giving him away. Smiling, Arthur takes in the way sleep smoothes out the lines on Merlin’s face and makes his cheekbones look less pronounced. 

He’s been back home for a couple of weeks now and finally, Annie’s and Hunith’s combined cooking efforts are putting some meat back onto his slim frame, building up the kind of lean, wiry muscle that defines his physique. He had been skinnier than usual at the start of the summer and the darkly bruised skin underneath his eyes had told tales of a lack of good sleep. 

He’s looking more like himself now, less drawn and tired, his face healthily tanned with a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose from lounging around in the garden and taking the bike to work. 

Arthur realises he’s staring, but there’s no one here to witness him doing it, so he lets his eyes drink their fill. He remembers the scary intensity with which he used to look at Merlin when they were younger. He watched him do all kind of things—mundane things, sexy things, insane things—filing away every expression on Merlin’s face for artistic reference, cataloguing every tiny detail about his body, from the fragility of his wrists to the surprising broadness of his shoulders underneath his loose shirts, to the exact constellation of moles on his inner thigh. Until one day he had to forcefully stop himself from noting these things about Merlin to keep himself sane.

He allows himself to look now, in the intimacy of this bright summer afternoon, with no one around to tell him to stop, with Merlin unaware of his transgression. 

With voyeuristic pleasure, he takes in the features of Merlin’s face, his disgustingly handsome profile, his plush, pink mouth slackly parted, the dark, long lashes resting on his cheeks. His stomach churns and his chest grows impossibly tight as if someone is squeezing his ribcage with an iron grip. A wave of that same, scary, intense emotion Arthur is so familiar with rushes through him, making him almost painfully gasp for air. _I love him, shit, I love him_ , the emotion sings clearly and loudly in his head and there’s no denying it to anyone, not when Arthur feels like he’s bursting with it from the inside. 

Biting his lip, Arthur tries to breathe through the rush of feeling, reminding him of the facts by which he operates and orchestrates his life. One: Merlin is still his stepbrother. Two: Merlin doesn’t love him back. Three: Arthur never again wants to have a casual thing with anyone and even if Merlin were up to it (indicated by their conversation over ice cream just two weeks ago), Arthur would never make the same stupid mistake twice. 

It doesn’t mean though that he isn’t allowed to look when no one’s watching or maybe think about it in the solitary sanctuary of his room, which he might have done a couple of times since living wall to wall with Merlin again. It might just be that the thought of Merlin on the other side of the wall has been driving him a little nuts.

Arthur shifts in his chair and lets his eyes take in Merlin’s loose, relaxed sprawl. He’s wearing wide, neon-pink jeans-shorts with rolled up cuffs (a clothing choice rather offensive to the eye but inherently a very Merlin choice of outfit) and a loose tanktop with a wide neck that reveals the bony jut of his collarbone. His hair curls long and midnight-black around his ears and sticks up at the nape of his neck, and Arthur longs to bury his fingers in the messy strands. If he puts his mind to it, he can recall the exact smell of Merlin’s hair, that arresting combination of mint shampoo and spicy sweat. Merlin’s splayed, naked legs are long and lean, his knees bony, his calves elegant and strong, the toes of his feet long. The inside of his thighs where his shorts end looks impossibly soft and his t-shirt is rucked up, revealing a sliver of lean stomach and just as soft-looking skin. 

He looks like a summer wet dream, all elegant lines and velvet skin, and just like that, Arthur’s thoughts take a turn for the dirty. He doesn’t mean to, but at the sight of Merlin’s long, graceful fingers resting on top of his thigh, twitching slightly in his sleep, Arthur guiltily remembers last night’s wank, which had him revisit something that happened during that strange, complicated autumn when they were both 17 and had explored each other’s bodies single-mindedly and unabashedly. 

_  
“No,” Merlin says sharply, prying Arthur’s fingers from where they are skimming up Merlin’s naked thighs with a clearly indicated destination._

_For a moment, Merlin holds his fingers in a tight grip, squeezing index and middle finger together almost painfully, before he leans forward and with the help of his weight slams Arthur’s hands down onto the sheets next to Arthur’s head._

_He’s close, their faces just inches apart from each other, and Merlin’s blue eyes are wide and blown, aroused and wicked, and a small smirk tugs at the corners of Merlin’s lips. “I said no touching,” he says determinedly, his breath warm and moist on Arthur’s upturned face._

_Arthur’s breath hitches at both the tone and the harsh press of Merlin’s palms pressing down his hands and his arms twitch as he involuntarily struggles against Merlin’s grip. At the noise and movement, Merlin’s eyes darken and his grin becomes even naughtier, if possible._

_“Maybe you need your hands tied to follow my orders,” Merlin whispers, sounding delighted at his own suggestion. He presses into Arthur’s hands and rises from his crouched over position to settle back into Arthur’s lap, his naked skin brushing Arthur’s thighs and erection, making him jerk again, precome gathering at the tip of his cock._

_Arthur attempts to gather his composure, because he’s been on edge all afternoon following Merlin’s whispered, fly-by suggestion during their Sunday family lunch, leaning over to breathe into the shell of his ear while everyone else was occupied with choosing from the menu._ I’ve been thinking of making you watch me jerk off later. You have no idea how much you turn me on with just the way you look at me. All hungry, like it’s me on the menu. _Merlin’s words had shivered through his body and caused an instant reaction, and Arthur hadn’t been able to think for the next five minutes, just pointing on a line on the menu when the waiter came to take their orders and ending up with Korean-style squid so spicy he could barely eat it._

_On top of him, Merlin looks impossibly lean and beautiful, his stomach muscles tight, his thighs strong, his hair mussed by Arthur’s fingers. With bitten lips, Arthur watches as Merlin cranes his neck to look around at the mess on Arthur’s bed before reaching forward and snatching up Arthur’s discarded t-shirt. Merlin twists the fabric in his hands, then leans back forward and grips Arthur’s hands, jerking them up and over his head. He wraps the fabric around his wrists, securing it with a tight knot. It’s an ineffective attempt at bondage, because Arthur could just slip his hands free, but it still makes Arthur’s breath go shallow._

_“Keep your hands over your head,” Merlin instructs him hoarsely, his voice indicating he’s affected as well, before he sits back up and shifts on Arthur’s thigh._

_“Watch. This… is how I touch myself thinking of you.”_

_There’s a breathless, wicked quality to Merlin’s voice, and it shouldn’t feel dirtier than all the things they’ve already done with each other—Jesus, Merlin had his tongue up his arse on more than one occasion—but the thought of watching Merlin doing something so intimate to himself, with Arthur unable to contribute, excites him beyond measure._

_Above him, Merlin reaches for his cock and settles back comfortably in Arthur’s lap, his eyes falling close at the touch of his hand. He wraps his fingers around himself and strokes upward from the base slowly, so slowly. Breath leaves Arthur in a rush at the unfairly erotic sight, and he watches with a dry mouth as Merlin strokes himself, thumb rubbing with firm pressure, twisting his hand over the tip._

_He looks amazing with his face slightly flushed, his dark lashes resting low on his cheek and his mouth parted, and the moans spilling from his lips cause Arthur to whimper in sympathy. Merlin continues to stroke himself as if he has all the time in the world, reaching down with his free hand to roll his testicles in his hand, before changing his grip on his cock._

_“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Arthur breathes, unable to help himself, and Merlin sighs out a moan and continues to stroke himself, ever so slowly. Arthur feels hypnotised by the blissful look on Merlin’s face, his eyes darting between Merlin’s face where Merlin is worrying his lips with his teeth and the sure movement of his fingers sliding up and down his length._

_“I love to take my time and imagine all I’d like to do to you,” Merlin whispers, swiping out his tongue to wet his parted lips._

_“What are you thinking about?” Arthur barely recognises his own voice, thick and hoarse as it is._

_“Me, on top of you, like this, riding your dick, slowly,” Merlin murmurs, sounding almost drunk, and he moves back a bit, pushing his arse back against Arthur’s erection._

_“Shit,” Arthur breathes, almost convulsing at the fresh wave of arousal Merlin’s words send crashing through him. “Shit. Do it. Please,” he moans, unable to keep his hips from rising, grinding against Merlin’s backside._

_“Fuck, fuck. Yes,” Merlin whimpers at his words, scrambling off Arthur for the bedside table, frantically searching through it, before tossing lube and a condom onto the bedspread._

_“Don’t move,” he hisses when Arthur tries to push himself up, and his hand comes down to press Arthur back into the sheets. Breathing hard, Arthur drops back down, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Merlin fumbles with the condom, rolling it onto him quickly, before squeezing a dollop of lube right onto the rubber._

_“Merlin,” Arthur moans when Merlin grips him tightly, distributing the lube down his length._

_“Shhh,” Merlin says inanely, then moves back with his hip, steadying Arthur’s cock with his hand, angling it for his opening. A fumble, a bit of a slide, pressure. Arthur hisses out in surprise when Merlin bears down, sinking onto him slowly, the tight heat of him enveloping him in a warm grip._

_Merlin’s face is a complicated mixture of bliss and pain, but he keeps sinking down until his arse meets Arthur’s hips, his guttural moan loud and long-drawn._

_“Shit, Merlin, you—”_

_“—feel so good,” Merlin whimpers, gripping himself tightly, his cock twitching in his hand._

_Arthur lifts his hands, momentarily forgetting that they are supposed to be bound, but Merlin’s eyes flash open like he has a sixth sense about it and he glares at Arthur. “Don’t… move,” he grounds out sharply, and then starts moving himself, his trembling thighs pushing upward, before he sinks back down onto Arthur’s cock in a rough, clutching slide, a low, desperate sound spilling from his lips._

_This will be over soon, Arthur thinks frantically, because there’s no way he can resist the tight drag of Merlin’s body for long. Merlin has started to move his hand again, matching leisurely strokes to leisurely movement, and Arthur drops his head back and breathes through his teeth and lets Merlin call the shots. It’s so worth it, Merlin riding him slowly but forcefully, and Arthur clutches the fabric of the balled up t-shirt between his fingers, holding on._

_Despite his early estimation, Merlin’s sure, easy movement assures that it goes on for what feels like forever, until Arthur’s mind is hazy with pleasure and nothing matters but the heat of Merlin’s body. Sweat beads on his skin, slippery where Merlin’s thighs meet his and he’s hot, so hot, and still Merlin keeps moving, steady and drawn-out. He’s making the most amazing noises, his face blissed out, and Arthur never knew that watching someone take their pleasure could be so amazing._

_It goes on and on and then all of a sudden, Merlin grinds down a little harder and rises a little faster and moans a little louder and his movements turn from smooth and slow to jerky and hard. With a little cry he pitches forward, one hand digging into the mattress next to Arthur’s shoulder, his panting breath washing over Arthur’s face._

_“Arthur,” he moans, “Arthur”, and Arthur thinks he never heard his name like this before, desperate and full of devotion, and just like this and without further prompting, Arthur comes, bucking upwards as he trembles and spills inside the condom, his body convulsing._

_Atop of him, Merlin whispers words of praise and when Arthur opens his eyes, Merlin is still moving, slow again, but with purpose, and Merlin stares at him, open-mouthed, stripping his cock, his blue eyes glittering and wondrous. Arthur’s still trembling when Merlin’s breath hitches and he groans, shooting a long rope of come onto Arthur’s chest up to his shoulder. Licking his lips, Arthur watches Merlin continue to stroke himself until he splashes his skin again, painting it with white fluid that looks positively obscene on Arthur’s skin._

_“Fuck, fuck,” Merlin groans, squeezing himself with loose fingers, his body trembling.  
_

Across from Arthur in the armchair, Merlin shifts and snuffles, and Arthur jerks in his chair, feeling guilty and horribly aroused. He feels the sudden and insane compulsion to skid to his knees in between Merlin’s legs, let his hands slide upwards over muscled thighs and push up the fabric of Merlin’s shorts. He wants to rip open the buttons on Merlin’s neon-pink shorts and nuzzles his face against the hot, hard heat underneath, wants to desperately take him into his mouth and pleasure him. He’s so aroused he can almost taste Merlin’s salty-sweet earthiness on his tongue. 

With a soft curse, Arthur stumbles to his feet and crosses the few yards towards the terrace door, his legs shaky as he passes through the hallway. The air inside the house is much cooler, a relief from the sweaty, oppressive heat gathered outside in the backyard. When he enters the tiled bathroom on the ground floor, the temperature drops once more, and he sighs out in relief as he opens the faucet and splashes cool water onto his face. 

He’s still breathing hard, and when he looks at himself in the mirror, his cheeks are splotchy and reddened, his eyes bright and feverish. He shouldn’t have dragged out that memory last night, shouldn’t have thought about Merlin at all, not in this way, anyway. It’s getting more difficult the longer he’s back home to ignore the fact that he’s still hung up on Merlin somewhat bad. 

For a while, after they ended it, it was too embarrassing to even look at Merlin, knowing that Uther, Hunith, and Morgana knew, and then he had gone to Newcastle for uni. It had been such a relief to be away from home, where Merlin seemed to be everywhere: sitting in Arthur’s window seat in the living room, having breakfast when Arthur came back home from his morning run, occupying the shower when Arthur was in desperate need of one. 

At Newcastle, Arthur had been finally able to let go enough to have other relationships. He had met other people and had found friends who didn’t know about his stepbrother. He had been able to grow, to forge healthy relationships, to be someone who could be a boyfriend to someone else. He came home for the holidays, but it was easier seeing Merlin when he knew there was someone waiting for him back in Newcastle. Sometimes, when he went weeks without seeing Merlin, he could almost believe that he had gotten over Merlin, that he didn’t feel the same way anymore. He told himself that he wasn’t in love with Merlin anymore, only to hurt as if someone was stabbing his insides with a dagger whenever he met him again, realising his feelings hadn’t changed.

When Merlin met Paul, Arthur thought this was it, that this was the moment where he needed to finally, finally stop thinking about Merlin like this at all. Paul seemed perfect at first glance: charming and eloquent, witty and handsome, and he appeared to worship the ground Merlin walked on. Their relationship had endured, and while all didn’t seem quite as perfect in the long run—judging from the comments Morgana sometimes dropped over the phone—they both seemed so earnest about it, so determined to make it work. It hurt to think that Merlin was in love with someone, when he hadn’t been able to love Arthur. 

Arthur splashes some more water on his face, then gulps water from his cupped palm. The cool freshness takes away the haziness from his mind. He calms down, feeling ready to return outside and not hide out in the bathroom any longer. He takes a detour through the kitchen, grabbing a peach from the bowl in the fridge, before venturing back outside.

In the armchair, Merlin has sat up from his sprawled position, and is looking through his phone. 

“Hey,” Merlin says when he spots him, smiling brightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Hey,” Arthur echos. “Had a good nap?” 

At his words, Merlin blushes and glances down, strangely abashed, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck and the sweaty curls there. “Yeah.” 

Arthur sinks into the armchair opposite Merlin and stretches out his legs, enjoying the adorable redness of Merlin’s face. “It’s okay to be tired after work and rest.” 

Merlin shrugs and brushes his headphones off, his curls wildly sticking up. “Are you satisfied with your work today?” he asks, his eyes flickering over to Arthur’s worktop and the papers there. 

Nodding, Arthur bites into the peach, surprised at its cool and sticky sweetness. Juice drips from the fruit and runs down his fingers and onto his wrists, and he lifts his hand, sucking the drops from his skin. 

“Quite.” 

When he looks over, Merlin is watching him, chewing on his lip, his teeth digging into the place where his lip ring sat. Arthur still isn’t over the fact that it’s gone, the only indication that it was there at all the little indentation in the skin just below Merlin’s bottom lip. He remembers sucking on it when they kissed, lapping his tongue over it and tugging it into his mouth, listening to Merlin’s breathy wet moans. It reminds him of his inappropriate fantasies from earlier and how he shouldn’t have indulged in them. 

“You got anything planned for when your practice year ends?” Arthur asks, knowing that Merlin is only a couple of days shy of finishing his work commitment at Charing Cross.

“Sleep,” Merlin says ruefully and threads a hand through his dark curls. Arthur tries not to stare at the way the muscles of his arm shift under his skin with the movement, to no avail. 

“No trip abroad?”

Merlin’s eyes drift off his face to somewhere to Arthur’s right and he looks shifty. “I didn’t have any time to plan something. I forgot.” 

“You could go up North? Or hiking the Southwest Coast Path?”

Merlin snorts out a laugh. “Hiking is really more your area of expertise. Also, I really don’t have anyone to go with. I mean, can you imagine Will on a hike? Or Gilli? He gets winded from lifting an amplifier. And Gwaine is really more the clubbing kind of guy.” 

They both grin at that and Arthur fights the suggestion that is on the tip of his tongue, that they could go together. It’s like his mind wants to desperately revisit their trip through Wales. Nostalgia grips him again and with it comes the familiar feeling of heartache. 

Arthur swallows down his suggestion and pushes himself up from his seat. He needs to fortify himself against these moments, or he won’t survive the summer. “I’m supposed to clean this up,” he says, making a sweeping gesture to indicate his drawing utensils laid out on the table, “and fetch Pip from the nursery.” 

“Do you need any help?” Merlin offers, but Arthur shakes his head. 

“No,you should get some rest and think about your upcoming holiday.” He finishes his peach, then flings the pit into the bushes in a wide arc. 

“Looks like you miss rugby training,” Merlin quips, and Arthur spares him another glance, annoyed at how his heart skips a beat just because Merlin has gotten up and stretches his long, lean arms over his head, yawning. The muscles of his chest and stomach are clearly visible beneath his tank top. He has discarded his headphones on his seat and his hair is tussled. Sex-tussled, Arthur thinks, his fingers itching to reach out and bury his fingers in Merlin’s curls. The need is so overwhelming that he almost feels sick and he can’t get out an answer to Merlin’s comment, the silence stretching awkwardly between them.

“You know what? I’ll go and fetch Pip. If I stay here I’ll only fall asleep again and then I’ll be absolutely useless for the rest of the day,” Merlin suggests. 

“That’d be nice, thank you,” Arthur presses out, busying himself with checking if his brushes are dry already. He thinks his voice comes out flat and that he should sound more grateful, but Merlin doesn’t seem to mind and just hums and tells him they’ll see each other later.

When Merlin enters the house, his absence feels very much like relief, and with a sigh, Arthur sinks back down into the armchair, burying his face in his hands, quietly gulping in air. 

It’s torture, that’s what it is, he thinks desperately. He doesn’t want to feel this way, lovesick and on edge, but he’s powerless when confronted with Merlin, who still manages to trigger all of Arthur’s buttons without even trying. 

What is it about Merlin that just completely obliterates Arthur’s common sense, that makes him horny and stupid? 

They didn’t even have a moment right now, not like two days ago, when they lay in the hammock and Merlin read to him. 

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,_ he hears the echo of Merlin’s voice in his head, and just like then, Pablo Neruda’s words seem to hit the problem spot on. 

Enough, Arthur chastises himself. Enough. He can’t go on like this, loving Merlin from afar and driving himself mad with longing. He bites down on his lip and gets up from his chair, reaching for his drawing tools with shaking fingers, stowing them away meticulously where they belong. The familiar task calms him down gradually. 

He vows to himself that the next time he meets a man he only marginally finds interesting, he will ask him out on a date without hesitation or second thought. There’s no future with Merlin, just recurring madness, and self-preservation is the next logical step to take. 

His resolve strengthened, he can breathe more easily. He cleans up the garden table before venturing into the house to help Annie, who came home earlier with dinner-prep, cutting vegetables and frying mushrooms for vegan meatballs. 

When Merlin returns home with Pip, he feels almost normal, and he lets Merlin take over kitchen duties to play in the garden with his little sister. 

As he pushes her on the swing set, his mind wanders back to Merlin, sprawled out in the armchair and looking like Arthur could never, ever get tired of him. 

Enough, he thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose to make the thoughts go away. Enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might want to
> 
> start reading [Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030971) from the start, or
> 
> return to [Part 2 - Chapter 2.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030971/chapters/63377272)


End file.
